UglyUgly, and other stories
by Dromiceius
Summary: Story the fourth: The Legend of Jisatsu Ken. None shall forget the Legend of Jisatsu Ken... no matter how much they might like to.
1. UglyUgly

A not-particularly-original sendup of (fan)fiction clichés. I thought it came out pretty well, so here it is.

I hope you'll leave a review if you enjoyed... and doubly so if I pissed you off.  
---

Akara and Kashya looked each other wide-eyed, with barely contained mirth ready to burst forth and spill all over the grass. Comprehending the same thought in each others eyes, they both doubled over, laughing hysterically.

"What? What the hell is so funny?!" The young woman standing before them was legitimately puzzled by their reaction. Granted, no one had supported her decision of taking up the adventuring life, and indeed, fighting had taken a toll on her physically, but the reaction of these two women was unprecedented.

Kashya was the first to catch her breath. "You think someone with that complexion could fight DEMONS? Please, PLEASE tell me you're joking."

"I am not," the girl said, barely audible to the older women. She had been proud just a moment ago. She had killed some undead spirit that was raising corpses in some graveyard somewhere off in the wilderness, but now she felt herself shrinking, disintegrating into a puddle of shame and humiliation. A puddle which, she considered, may or may not be liable to mingle with all the mirth already on the ground, and thus become truly lost.

Considering this, she drew herself up, and, looking Kashya square in the eyes, addressed her sharply. "What does my complexion have to do with anything?"

"Child," Akara put her arm around the young woman, which she tolerated with dignity. "Take a look around. Your skin is greasy, your hair is a mess, you don't have the high cheekbones of Charsi over there, and your buttocks are nowhere near as firm and proud as those of Kashya. How could you possibly hope to defeat Andariel?"

"I know her weak point! It's--"

"Yes, yes. Everybody knows about the fire."

"No, I mean her nipple rings."

Warriv, a talented beatboxer, provided a drum-fill.

"Very well," Kashya began, giving the young lady another look over, "living as a warrior may limit you to only one facial peel a week- FACT- but how do you account for your nose?"

"My nose?"

"It's crooked."

"It got broken," she deadpanned, now glaring. "By the demons."

Kashya scowled, unimpressed. The young lady rolled her eyes before elaborating. "I fell on my face, alright? I got hit from behind, and fell on my face. It was days before I could seek medical help, and by then it was too late."

Kashya's scowl softened to a frown. "I just don't... couldn't you at least stuff your bra? You're truly fugly, you know."

Two identical, half-naked rogues standing guard nearby nodded to one another in agreement. Kashya continued, "I could understand if you were trying to be stylishly ugly, but... you're not just pale- your skin is blotchy and uneven! You're no heroine. An extra, maybe. Fodder for a hero to rescue and then forget about. But you... you didn't really think you could AMOUNT to anything with those narrow hips, did you?"

The young lady's mouth spasmed open, as if winged demons would fly out and claw Kashya to death. But, she mastered herself, and instead stalked off, resisting the urge to shout expletives, just as a man approached- another newcomer.

"Who the hell is this old geezer," Kashya scoffed, giving him the usual once-over.

"Geezer?" the man replied, taken aback. "I'm twenty-four."

"Too old. Next."

"Too old!? I'm in the prime of--"

"Yes, O-L-D! OLD! You hard of hearing or something? Go pick a corner and sell damaged boots for the rest of your life."

"You're not making any sense. I can still fight!"

"Look, grandpa. I've been doing this for a lot longer than you have, and believe me when I say that your years of experience are of no use compared to the unruly hormones of any teenager. Just look at Akara."

The old woman nodded solemnly. "I am basically useless, except as a plot device."

Kashya patted her on the shoulder sympathetically. "See? And look at me- I'm not even 30, and I haven't done anything but berate newcomers for ten years. Still wear the chainmail, though... accentuates my firm, proud buttocks, don't you think? You get firm buttocks when you spend as much time standing around as I do. Ain't that right, Akara?"

"You could bounce a goid piece off my butt, it's so firm."

The young man blinked, astonished, and turned to Warriv, who met hiz questioning look with a fatherly smile and understanding nod before cheerfully ejaculating, "good day!" and returned to staring at his wagon.

It was disheartening, to say the least.

Sure enough, it was a 17 year old boy with a shock of blue hair who ended up killing Andariel, along with his on-again-off-again girlfriend, who happened to have eyes the color of burning hellfire, for she was the offspring of a human mother and a hell-lord with whom she was never particularly close... 


	2. The Supreme Annihilation

Inspired in part by the prologue of HeavensLastHope's Diablo III fic. 

--

Unending Sycophancy to Diablo -  
Lord of Terror, and Owner of Mittens.  
Long had the Sin War raged across the plains of Khanduras,  
and many were the fool hero who sought to cast my Lord down from his throne, back to the Burning Hells.  
All failed, for there is no power in Heaven nor upon mortal soil that can hope to challenge that of my Master.

The Sin War dragged on, and many adventurers simply gave up in shame and despair at the might of Diablo, and moved out of their mothers' basements, leaving my Lord all but unopposed for control of Sanctuary.

And so it came to pass that during the thirteenth year of the conflict, on the full moon of the thirteenth day of the thirteenth month, My Lord's plans for The Supreme Annihilation were at last completed.

The Lord of Terror adopted... a Kitten... Yes, a Kitten of... TREMENDOUS POWER!  
My Lord told me often of the dark evil...ness of his... "Cuddle-Wuggums,"  
and of how the mighty Claw of Mittens shall rend the flesh of man and angel alike.

Soon, all shall know the Fury of Mittens, the Sin War shall be ended, and Diablo shall rule the earth FOR ALL ETER--

Ahh, who am I kidding? Nobody cares anymore. This whole "vice ruler of earth" thing was too good to be true anyway. I guess I'd better get a real job now. I wonder if Sears is still looking for a night clean-up boy...

Oh, yeah.  
**So sayeth the Lord of Terror, and so...** yadda yadda the end.


	3. The Wrong Hero

This one isn't really incisive or "ha ha" funny. Just a lighthearted spoof/wish fulfillment from playing the game, and a little fun at Cain's expense, gaming logic, the non-existence of duct tape, and stuff like that. 

--- 

The necromancer awoke in his room in Atma's pub. He was quick out of bed, but didn't bother putting on his armor. Instead, he shaved, pausing just a moment to admire how his sunken cheeks had filled in during his stay in the city, and how pearly-white his skin was getting. After a thorough brushing and flossing, he got dressed in white t-shirt and black shorts, and eagerly trotted straight down the stairs to greet the tavern patrons in the bar below. Most of the city, you see, was grateful to the necromancer for various services he had performed in the capacity of monster-slaying.

Or at least, they _had_ been grateful.

Taking the last three steps in a single hop, he landed with a flourish of his arms and called out, "Good morning, everybody!" He stood expectantly, and his heart began to sink when he didn't get the cheerful response he had been getting each morning for the past week. Instead, they glanced at him, and some nodded out of politeness, and then continued milling about, drinking, or talking amongst themselves. Most of them looked tired and vacant, as if they hadn't been getting enough sleep. The necromancer scratched his head and, with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders, went on his way. He wasn't about to let the sulkyness of these people dampen his spirits-- not when he had so much living to do.

He stood and surveyed the street with a broad grin. The yellow stones lining the street, the houses, the palace, the people; the city and everything in it was aglow in shades of perpetual midnight.

His morning jog around the block took him past Elzix' inn. The innkeeper was sitting stooped over a table where he did his trading. He was cloaked and his glance nervously shifted about-- moreso than usual. Greiz was fast asleep, propped up against a wall at an awkward angle. Like a cross-armed, grumbling statue, he was stiff as a board.

All in all, things were getting pretty weird in Lut Gholein.

Dorian avoided crossing paths with Cain. He had his reasons for doing so, but as it usually happens, one does not find Cain; he finds you. Sure enough, Cain stopped the young man outside Atma's before he could start his second lap.

"Dorian," Cain began after clearing his throat, "might I have a word with you?"

The younger man approached the elder with just a hint of impertinence. "Alright, but make it quick- Fara challenged me to a poker game a little later."

Cain shifted nervously, not wanting to offend the lighthearted young man who had already done so much for everyone, but calmly voiced his concern. "You have yet to locate the last piece of the Horadric staff."

Dorian blinked indifferently. "Yeah?"

Cain was, needless to say, stunned. "Even now, Diablo makes his bid for resurrection! The entire world will be in grave peril! Does that mean nothing to you?"

"It's been two months since I got here. If he were going to start... whatever it is that prime evils actually do, I think they'd have done it already. Believe me: we can wait as long as we want, and nothing will change."

Cain frowned disapprovingly, but continued as if he hadn't heard. "And this unending darkness is causing some of the townsfolk to become... unhinged."

Dorian laughed gaily. "So? Look at my hair." He stooped slightly and parted his wispy, white hair to show roots of thick, lustrous gold. "Hasn't been like that since I was a teenager."

"Be that as it may--"

Dorian cut off the old mage with childish puerility. "Everyone has a goddamned agenda. I'm sick of it. I don't care anymore. If someone actually needs help- I'm there. In the meantime, Fara awaits."

Cain's stern visage soften to one of genuine dismay. "You-- You're going to let things be as they are?"

"Why not? The rest of you may like the sun, but not me. I'm the one putting my ass on the line to save the rest of you, so I think my vote should count for something. If you can't understand that, then by all means, help yourself to my platypus' helm of shut-the-hell-up. It's in my stash."

Agape, Cain considered this turn of events for a moment as Dorian went back to Atma's to get dressed. _'Ass on the line?' He hasn't fought anything in two weeks..._ He shuddered without quite knowing why, and continued mulling. _It couldn't be- it's impossible!_ He thought back to his stay in the Rogue Camp, the adventurers he'd met, the long afternoons spent sipping tea with Dorian and talking about life. He also seemed to recall a certain sorceress who seemed to flit in and out of the camp like a specter, never resting for more than five minutes. She'd come and go through the waypoint four or five times a day. In fact, now that he considered it, he had never actually seen her sitting down.

_She and Dorian had killed Andariel together; Dorian narrated the story to us himself after they returned, and... and... Oh dear lord._

Cain paced nervously, wringing his hands and fearing the worst.

_The sorceress must have already made her own way to Lut Gholein without us! Dorian had us squander a week on drunken parties with the rogues, and nobody had even thought to ask where she had gone!_

As much as he had enjoyed his time with the inebriated rogues, such feelings were eclipsed by dread and anxiety as the implications sunk in: The End of the World.

_He was so congenial... I can't believe I let that buffoon trick me into thinking he was the true hero-- no REAL hero accepts that many lap dances! What a fool am I, to be so blinded by friendship!_

With an aggravated groan, he charged to the waypoint up the alley as fast as his legs could carry him. Sure enough, waypoints had been activated all over the world, from Tal Rasha's chamber, to the depths of hell, and throughout the merciless highlands of the north.

_Perhaps I have overestimated my own usefulness._ He blinked, looking over the list a second time. Reasoning that the prime evils had already been dealt with, he looked up at the starry morning sky in confusion. He took the waypoint to the lost city-- everything was dead and decomposing. Likewise, the Claw Viper temple was empty even on the lower floor where, at the end of a long passageway, he found the Sun altar.

"What do we have here," he muttered to himself, and began examining the altar. "Seems to have been shattered, and crudely reassembled using some sort of silvery, reflective, cloth-like material... sticky on one side, as the web of a spider. How very curious." Cain mused to himself, unravelling the altar as one unravels bandages from one who is long wounded, but finally recovers.

Back in Lut Gholein, the darkness looming overhead at last broke and dissipated like vapor from a teakettle. The people in the streets shielded their eyes, no longer used to the sun, which shone out stronger than it had ever shone before.

And young Dorian, who was only one hand away from getting Fara's top, got the strangest feeling that his luck had finally run out.


	4. The Legend of Jisatsu Ken

_Note: So that no one might be offended, I should point out that I'm making fun of Asian stereotypes in western fantasy, not the Japanese._

--

"The name's Ken. Jisatsu Ken," remarked the stranger, apropos of nothing. We hadn't really counted on meeting anyone here, Mara and I. It wasn't rightly the kind of place where you'd run into a lot of strangers; it was the middle of Hell. This Ken, as he called himself, didn't seem quite on the level, so I'd hoped to dispense with pleasantries as quickly as possible and continue our journey.

"What ails you, stranger?"

"Why, nothing," Ken replied with an unassuming tone. "I was merely wondering if you ladies would perchance endeavor to procure the accompaniment of a--" he paused to inhale at this point, "TENTH LEVEL Kunpaek'tu master! SH-SHAA!"

He struck an impressive pose, with his black steel plate and wrist-blade gleaming in the hellfire. I blinked, and turned to my companion, an asocial sort, who was pretending to be engrossed in reorganizing her potions. Feeling eyes on her, she looked up.

"What?"

We exchanged glances. I to her, her to Ken, Ken to me. Words failed us. Shrugging, she resumed rummaging in her backpack.

Ken relaxed his pose and elaborated, "in an assistatory manner, you understand."

"I don't believe 'assistatory' is a word," I said, dryly, "but very well. We would be pleased to have you join us."

"EXCELLENT!" he boomed, causing Mara to drop a flask onto the bedrock.

"My name is Evylin, and this is Mara. We're both--"

"Sorceresses- Yes, I can tell. Who else would wear such skimpy outfits into battle?"

I chuckled bemusedly, but couldn't really argue the point.

And so we ventured onward through those infernal caverns, wherein we suffered through blistering heat and bore witness to torments too grotesque to describe... and, well, we killed things; lots of things. Things that moved, in particular. Mara and I handled most of the hellspawn with our tandem dual-elemental blitzes. Jisatsu Ken often tried to jump into the fray, but found this action to be ill-advised. we advanced for some hours before finding a place to set down that didn't have a lot of those damned wall-people mentally undressing us with their lidless eyes. Ken took this opportunity to strike up a conversation.

"I am on a pilgrimage, far from my homeland, and anon I shall return a legend."

"Where did you say your homeland was, again?"

"I, er-- FAR, FAR AWAY!"

I blinked.

"To the east," he concluded, nodding.

Peculiar fellow, I thought, but decided not to make anything of it. Mara on the other hand was, as I mentioned, of a retiring disposition and preferred peace and quiet to Ken's incessant and nonsensical yelling. Or rather, in this case she preferred the moaning of the eternally forsaken to Ken's yelling.

"Say, Ken," she began, imitating my diplomatic tone, which was otherwise foreign to her, "do you think you could be a little quieter? Ninety percent of victory is the element of surprise, they say."

"Sou desu ne," he muttered, half to himself.

"What?"

He dismissed the question with a wave. I sighed inwardly, and resolved never to talk to strangers again.

It wasn't long before we were back on Diablo's trail and slaughtering monsters. Mara singed our new cohort with an unfortunately timed fireball, causing him to recoil from the battle, yet again. With the last of them dead- stygian beasts, I believe they were- Ken objected volubly to our long-tested and battle-proven tactics.

"My ladies, you do me much dishonor by not allowing me to slaughter the demons for you!"

"That's all right, Ken!" I retorted, "We can handle ourselves. The important thing is getting through these hordes to kill Diablo."

Further discussion was squelched by the warcries of a group of Hell-Knights as they came charging over a foothill.

Ken screamed. Not in a cowardly way- he wasn't quite smart enough for that. More in a 'baying at the moon' sort of way.

"Here is my chance! STAND ASIDE, COMRADES!"

We did so, though I think Mara just wanted to see what would happen. A crimson mist encircled him as he charged the opposing force. Drawing his bladed fist back, he shook the cavernous walls with a great kiai and flung himself bodily at the leader of the pack. The kiai suddenly halted in a blinding red flash. The next thing I knew, Ken had been tossed like a ragdoll some feet into the air and over most of the Hell-Knights, where we lost sight of him.

Disposing of the enemies, we found Ken laying face-down, half trampled, with his own blade projecting up through his jaw and ostensibly into his brain. It was a gruesome mess of blood and scorch marks; he had evidently hit himself with some kind of special attack. Mara and I agreed that if anyone should ask, we'd pretend the whole thing never happened.

Thus ended the Legend of Jisatsu Ken.


End file.
